Arson to Myself
by devirnis
Summary: In one quick moment, his whole world crumbles. Renji laments. Oneshot. Warning: character death


I know I'm alive  
>But I feel like I died<br>And all that's left is to accept that it's over  
>My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made<br>I try to keep warm but I just grow colder

- Superchick

* * *

><p><strong>Arson to Myself<strong>

It was surreal, when it happened. Like the moment in a bad dream, where everything is so overwhelmingly horrific and confusing and you can't believe that this is happening to you, and then finally you realize that it isn't real. You slow down and you wake, and the world goes back to normal.

Only, it wasn't a dream.

He could remember exactly what had happened. It was a Hollow, a big one. He, Kurosaki and Rukia had been together when they sensed it, just before midnight, and headed after it immediately. And then they were fighting it. He couldn't use his full strength, but the three of them were handling it easily enough. The Hollow had a long, agile tail that it seemed to use mostly for sweep attacks. He'd caught the tail in the stomach at the beginning, but it only sent him skidding backwards. It was nothing dangerous; it was just huge.

That's why he didn't really panic when the Hollow shot Rukia a glancing blow with its tail. She hurtled backwards, just like he had. He assumed she'd be back in a few seconds, no worse for wear other than a scrape or bruise. But she didn't come back. He lashed out a few more times at the Hollow, waiting for her to appear in his peripheral vision. Still nothing.

He dodged another swinging attack from the Hollow's tail. As its tail swished back and forth, he noticed a sharp spike sticking out of the end. The tip was stained with red. Dread dropped like a stone into his gut. Ignoring every battle tactic he had ever been taught, he turned his back on the enemy. Ichigo took the Hollow down a moment later, anyway.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, and he went cold when he saw the crumpled figure on the ground a few feet away. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he felt a drastic change in her reiatsu. It was flickering, like a candle in a light breeze, fighting to stay lit. He hurried towards her, desperation adding haste to his steps. He neared, and noticed a dark stain on her black robes. It was her blood, then, that had been on the Hollow. If Ichigo hadn't destroyed it, he would have personally ripped the monster to shreds. He reached her side.

"Rukia …"

He stretched his arm out, moving to place a hand on her shoulder. Just before he touched her, something swept down and blew her out.

Everything froze. The background noises of the city died away. He only caught the start of Ichigo's cry of shock. Everything around him stopped after the wind carried her away. Nothingness gaped in front of him, and it was terrifying. An instant changed everything. She was there, and then she wasn't. The pavement soared up to meet him as his knees gave out. In front of him … was nothing. An empty shell, slowly growing cold. He gingerly slid his arms under her still form, pulling her into his chest. There was an eerie warmth to her skin. Eerie, because he knew it wouldn't linger. Her sightless eyes were open, staring up at the starless sky.

Kurosaki was behind him now. He bent over, to see for himself if it was really true. His sharp intake of breath confirmed it for Renji. She was gone. He clutched her tighter, and howled his loss into the night.

* * *

><p>He didn't know why he went with Ichigo to break the news. Out of some obscure sense of duty, probably. He had to be there, to put her memory to rest. Telling people … hearing it, aloud, even if he couldn't bear to say it himself … then he knew he wasn't crazy. This had really happened, and he would have to deal with it. Even if it hurt to hear the words <em>Rukia<em> and _dead_ in the same sentence, he couldn't keep denying. Each stab of pain, every shard of glass forced into his heart would force him to accept it.

Chad was the hardest to read. He tensed up, but didn't make a sound. Ishida refused to believe it for a few minutes. The Quincy just kept muttered "No, no, no," under his breath. When it finally hit him, he got angry.

Orihime's reaction was the most predictable. She gasped, her eyes watered, and then she began to sob. He had been prepared for it, but for some reason this hurt much more than it was supposed to. Seeing pure, raw grief on the face of someone who had _barely_ known her, compared to him … He hadn't cried since that night. Not even when he told his captain, when he had come the closest to verbally acknowledging it.

"_Is it true, Abarai?" Captain Kuchiki sat in his desk, his back facing Renji._

"_Yes … Rukia was—"_

"_Leave me."_

"_Captain—"_

"_Leave me, Abarai."_

He knew he should feel something. A great, irrepressible sadness, smothering him everywhere he went. But he didn't feel that. He didn't feel anything. And that scared him. She had been such an integral part of his life, even during those years when rank and obligations had separated them. Hardly a day had gone by when he hadn't thought of her, missed her. But he had known that there was still a chance. The higher he climbed in the Gotei 13, the closer he got to her.

So why now, when there was not even a tentative hope of seeing her again, did he feel nothing? His surroundings were chaotic: Ishida's burning anger, Orihime's tears, Ichigo's failing attempts at controlling his emotions. Even Chad's quiet mourning. But he felt no emotion. It was as if his heart had been cut from him. He felt still and quiet, like the eye of a tornado. Misery and heartache whirled around him while he stood in the middle of it all, with a vacant expression and an empty soul.

* * *

><p>So take my broken glass<br>And help me make a window  
>So I can see your face<br>After all that I have been through

- Thousand Foot Krutch

* * *

><p>His head was full of clichés during her wake and funeral. <em>She was a fallen warrior. She looks very peaceful. She's in a better place now. <em>He sat perfectly still, staring at his white hands in his lap. His captain was a row in front of him, serene and sombre as always.

He stood by her side a half-second longer than he should have, when he placed the flowers next to her head.

_This is the world now._

* * *

><p>It was almost six months before he saw Kurosaki smile again.<p>

A real smile, not the slight twitch of the mouth when he felt _obliged_ to show some facial reaction. Ichigo and Orihime came into Urahara's shop—he couldn't remember why—and Orihime pulled out her snack. It was something horrible-sounding, quintessentially Orihime. Urahara had been nearby, and gaped in a horrified and disgusted manner at what she had termed "food". And then Ichigo had actually grinned.

Both Urahara and Orihime had looked shocked for a fraction of a second, but they quickly regained their composure. They didn't want to treat Ichigo differently, now that he had finally come out of his grieving. From then on, Kurosaki appeared less guarded, genuinely happy.

Renji truly felt betrayed.

Whispers had been spreading across the Seireitei since Rukia's death. It started amongst the unseated officers. They would gather in small groups, speak in hushed tones, and go quiet whenever an officer approached. But the infectious rumour climbed up the ladder of authority, until even the Head-Captain himself must have heard it. The low voices said that Byakuya Kuchiki had no heart.

His captain had always appeared apathetic towards others. It came with being nobility. But Byakuya Kuchiki had barely batted an eye when Renji had confirmed the death of his little sister. That was where the rumours took root. For a man who had lost his parents and his wife—all prematurely—he hardly seemed phased. Byakuya Kuchiki went about his duties with the same indifferent arrogance that he always had.

Kuchiki had never mourned. Kurosaki had stopped. And Renji couldn't find it in himself to grieve. The emptiness was still inside him, tinged with a dull ache in his chest. He knew that this ache had the potential to blossom into grief, but it never quite made it there. He wanted it to erupt into an all-consuming anguish, a fire that would burn until it destroyed everything inside of him, until he became a zombie. Alive for all outside purposes, but just an empty shell.

Rukia deserved to be mourned, and not simply missed. Because he _did_ miss her, more than he thought was possible. He had known her since his childhood. He had known her from poverty to comfortable lifestyle. She was the one who knew him best. _Renji and Rukia_. It had a lovely ring to it. Beauty flowed from the words, and the phrase had lost all meaning. It had become a series of consonants and vowels that held some magical, romantic appeal. It was so much more than just three simple words.

But now it was just Renji, who was unable to mourn. So he hated himself, and hated Byakuya for failing in his brotherly duties.

He began to rebel against his captain. He was openly hostile, challenging orders and glaring daggers. Reprimands became a daily occurrence, until he was given an ultimatum: smarten up and behave, or take a forced leave of absence. His duties as a lieutenant were the only things that kept him sane, so he backed off. But he didn't just lie down like a beaten dog. He filed paperwork late—not late enough to cause trouble, but just late enough to cause his captain minor inconveniences. And if a minor inconvenience was all he could get away with, he would be damned if he didn't keep at it.

Recruitment for the Sixth Division waned. No one wanted to work under a cold-hearted captain and a crazed lieutenant.

* * *

><p>It took three months of minor inconveniences before he realized what a fool he'd been.<p>

He had become accustomed to slipping into the Kuchiki Manor during the night. The first time he had done it he had been terrified that he would be caught. But no alarms sounded. No guards descended down upon him. He spent the night by Rukia's grave, and somehow he felt more at peace.

A few weeks later, he tried it again. The third time it was only days later. It was then that he realized how horribly he had treated his captain. He was no better than the worst member of the Stealth Force, and yet he had managed to infiltrate a noble manor three times without incident. There was no possible way that the extremely detailed security protecting the manor had overlooked him.

Byakuya knew, and allowed him to come.

The man was no different than Renji. Neither of them knew how to react. For Byakuya, it was one blow too many. Something had broken inside of him. Instead of succumbing to grief, he had opted for silent detachment. Renji glanced up, towards the house, and saw the silhouette watching him from a window. So at last they understood one another.

He lay down beside her grave marker, staring up at the starry night. There had always been something alluring and beautiful about stars. The two of them had done this often as children. Just lying in the grass, ignoring the bitter wind, and getting lost in the majesty of it all. He could picture her lying beside him, a faint smile on her face.

Warmth ghosted over his skin, like he had just brushed up against someone's hand. He resisted the urge to look, because he knew that there was nothing to see. But as long as he kept his eyes on the sky he could imagine. He could imagine her soft, delicate fingers stroking the back of his hand. And then she would take his hand, entwine their fingers, and he would be happy.

He smiled—something he never thought he'd do again—and closed his eyes. In the years to come, he continued to sneak into the garden. As the wound began to heal his visits became less frequent, but more joyous. He still made time for her, though. At least once a week he lie by her side, feel a small stab of sadness, and then he would be content. And the two of them would lie side by side, together again, even if it was only for a few precious moments.

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><p>Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy<p>

- Eskimo proverb


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